STELLAN MCLYNN. @stcllans - Tumblr Blog

PINNED POST ― ❛❛ The questions run too deep for such a simple man.❜❜

ATLAS; Stellan McLynn, manager of the Supernova Expedition. Penned by Kit. About section found below the cut.

CLOSED STARTER — @n30nflights & @ofblossoms.

“Stop—stay!”

The Akita Inu stares at him with a tilted head, ears standing straight. They lock into a staring contest—Stellan, maintaining an authoritative glare, and hoping this one listens to him. The Akita Inu, showing no signs it registers Stellan's words at all. After a pause, it stands up and trots past him into the ship. Stellan watches its proud curled tail as it boards like Na sent it. He hasn’t gotten any better at commanding the furry inhabitants of Argos, and at this point, he’s over it. If Neon and Aniara are worth their salt, they can fly the ship without sending a dog tumbling around inside like a tic tac.

Stellan enters the cockpit with the canine happily hurrying alongside his feet. When the pilot and co-pilot turn to him, he waves them off. “It wouldn’t stay outside, and I don’t care anymore.” An exhale. “Are we ready for reconnaissance?”

#THREAD ― neon.#THREAD ― aniara.#(prompt 3)

n30nflights

Neon raised his brows at the first sight of Stellan's ruffled feathers, a self-satisfied smirk twitching on his lips when all of that kerfuffle dissolved into a polite concession. He was still testing boundaries like a kid and at this point, their manager was making a good case of being easily tamed.

He nodded sagely, replacing a hand over the poodle's head and bringing it closer to himself. A few strokes later and the little beast was satiated, panted and drooling in his palm.

"Good boy," Neon said, though whether he was complimenting Stellan's behaviour or the poodle was uncertain.

Contented to return to the ship, Neon turned his back to Stellan with confidence and began his stride back up the ramp only to be intercepted by another dog the colour of fresh bread. Neon paused in stride and stared down at the dog, suddenly caught in a staring contest.

He took a step to the side. The dog followed. Then he took a step to the other side, and again, it followed.

For a second, Neon contemplated whether he could heft another dog in his arms before deciding that the bread dog was slightly too big for him to be juggling.

"Came here for the show, buddy?" he asked, reaching down to scritch behind the bread dog's ear with his free hand. "Sorry to say that you just missed it."

Neon glanced over his shoulder at Stellan. "Don't worry, the clown will be back in ten."

stcllans

Stellan watches Neon stroll back to the ship with a nasty side glare. If only looks could kill. Whatever. He’ll file his damned report, then sneak into the cockpit later to plant some tasteful revenge. Something subtle but deeply annoying, something only Stellan can pull off.

He resumes typing, filling in the blanks with little enthusiasm. Scroll, scroll, scroll. Every new line reminds him he should’ve ignored Maverick’s calls. Finally, he reaches the bottom, scrawls his signature, and exhales. He’s living the wrong kind of life. In front of him, the landscape stretches out serenely. Packs of dogs run in the distance, their coats glinting in the sun, the rolling hills meet the tree line up ahead. For the tenth time since landing, Stellan wonders if they stepped into a mirage.

By the time he trudges back toward the ship, he’s in almost decent spirits, right up until he spots Neon cuddling yet another dog. Of course. Stellan digs out a pack of cigarettes. He lights one, takes a drag, and fixes Neon with a scrutinizing look. Then, after a beat, he offers the pack forward.

“Don’t you find it odd that the dogs listen to you?” He questions, smoke curling lazily from his lips. “I’d expect that from a street feral. At least they’ve seen people before, but these things?” He nods towards the poodle dangling from Neon’s arms. “From what the reports said, I expected them to be territorial, or something. I don’t know, more aggressive.”

#THREAD ― neon.

n30nflights

Neon looked unphased by the comparison, glancing upwards and feigning innocence. The distance between them said more than either of them needed to. Stellan could talk all he wanted from behind his ten-foot buffer. Neon didn't have to say it to make it obvious who was really in control between them.

"Still thinking about that, huh? Funny, I've already forgotten how little you weighed," he pointed out casually, the little poodle nestled contentedly in his palm still. Neon kept petting the dog as if it were an extension of Stellan himself. Small, ineffective, and easily tamed. The little poodle's tail continued to wag happily so long as he was stroking it, beating softly against his forearm.

He let the silence breathe before speaking again in his lazy cadence as he approached Stellan in slow, measured steps until their shadows bled together. "You're right, though. Some things are hard for me. Like following orders that sound more like tantrums. Where I'm from, we call that bad manners."

Then, he lifted the poodle toward Stellan, holding it between them like a threat. The pup kicked its little legs, resuming it's barking from the absence of petting.

stcllans

Stellan rolls his eyes this time, but only because he’s turned away from Neon and the pilot can’t see the cynical look on his face. He thinks back to the moment Neon yanked him by the shirt and pulled him into a headlock, and how quickly he folded to get out of it. It was humiliating, but at least he has that reason to remember it. Neon? He’s just weird.

“How little I—” Stellan chuckles. He can’t believe what he’s hearing. He shoots Neon a thin smile paired with an incredulous glare. “Really, how little I weighed?”

He considers letting it go, just as he originally planned—burying it for good, in case bringing it up risks someone else finding out and the humiliation spreads. But if this stays strictly between them, he might as well air his petty grievances.

“First of all, you’re lying. Second, I weigh a perfectly normal amount. You’re just out of touch.”

He shakes his head and turns back to the datapad. “Sad.” He doesn’t realize Neon is closing in until the damn poodle barks, making him nearly drop the device from the jolt of proximity. Stellan looks up, annoyed to find that, yes, Neon is fully capable of sneaking up on him. One more thing to stay alert about.

“Okay, okay!” He holds up both hands defensively. “Christ.” He grits his teeth, then takes a moment to collect himself. Straightening his jacket, running a hand through his hair, he exhales and fixes Neon with a look of barely restrained irritation.

“Please keep the dog away until I finish the report, dearest crew member. I know you’re extremely capable. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be asking you. I’ll go nowhere without your help.”

#THREAD ― neon.

CLOSED STARTER ― @esmeray-kaya.

He exhales, and when the smoke clears, Esme moves past his periphery. A frown finds his lips instinctively. Stellan prays the dogs she’s walking beside keep her from noticing him. The last encounter he wants is with an entourage of dogs and Esme’s.

As he observes the curious scene from a safe distance, an overall strangeness befalls the peaceful sequence. One clone is getting chased by a Chihuahua, and another is cheerfully rubbing a terrier’s stomach on the grass. But one of them—perhaps Esme herself—is staring intently at a dalmatian as it moves from flower to flower. As Stellan watches from afar and takes his time smoking, he finds himself drawn to the hound’s strange and repetitive behavior. Eventually, he decides to approach. He tries to be careful, not wanting to disturb the scene, but when he arrives, the dalmatian appears reinvigorated as it restarts its voyage from flower to flower.

“What’s wrong with it?”

#THREAD ― esme.

n30nflights

Neon didn't even bother straightening when he caught sight of Stellan hopping like he'd stepped into a nest of hornets and swiping at empty air while the tiny poodle nipped gleefully at his ankles as if it had been bred for humiliation. He toyed with the idea of sliding the hatch shut and pretending he hadn't seen a thing, but the free show was too good to pass up. For a moment on the trip out, he'd nearly felt bad about the mess hall. Nearly. But Stellan had steered clear of him ever since, which meant it had worked exactly as intended. Cause and effect. This, though? This was karma. And a hell of a lot funnier.

"Not a fan of your own medicine, huh?" he called out, voice dripping with amusement.

The dog yipped, darted in again and Stellan flinched like it had drawn blood. Neon finally abandoned the hatch control panel and approached the ramp, not to help, but to savor the view up close, like a man wandering toward a street act he'd already paid for.

When Stellan finally snapped and jabbed a finger at him, the poodle froze before bolting straight to Neon's boots. With lazy ease, Neon crouched, scooped it up one-handed like a football, and scratched under its chin. The little beast melted instantly, tail wagging with approval.

He gave the poodle a casual pat before glancing back at Stellan. "Can't handle half a man, can't handle half a mutt. What can you handle?"

stcllans

Stellan witnesses the ease with which Neon tames the hyperactive poodle with jealousy and disdain. If he wanted to waste time with the mutt, he could’ve done that himself, but his hands are occupied holding the datapad. Obviously. He eyes the pair warily, concerned they’ve teamed up against him, but he latches on to the pure contempt that burns his eyes at the sight of Neon petting the suddenly content pup. What a simple creature. And yet, he couldn’t bring it to heel.

“An apt comparison.” He looks between Neon and the dog. “It must be how alike you are that makes it hard to tolerate you.” Stellan purses his lips in displeasure. “You need a leash.” He declares, then turns away. The ten foot distance between them gives Stellan the confidence to voice the catty suggestion. This time, he won’t be caught off guard if he strikes Neon’s nerves and the man decides to come after him.

“Just keep it away while I finish this stupid thing,” Stellan calls back, looking from the datapad to Neon, then back to the datapad. “It shouldn’t be as hard a task as getting your picture taken.” He continues, sarcastically, while his fingers fly between tabs and digital numpads. “Unless any simple request moves you to violence.”

#THREAD ― neon.#comparing each other to the dog #ok kings

notyourmercy

Irina slouched further into her chair at the mention of the dinner, her expression of surprise quickly settling into a scowl. Stupid. She didn’t need to do any “bonding” activities. All she needed to know was that the crew was competent, and wouldn’t slow down their progress. Knowing Maverick, he didn’t spare any expense when it came to getting them the best of the best. She didn’t need small talk to know that.

“Is this for the music business or world-saving business?” Irina eyed Stellan warily, weighing her options. If all it took was one photo to get out of socializing with the crew… Not a bad deal. Still, it wasn't like this was some press tour for the Supernova Girls where interviewers expected them to play stupid trivia games and act like they were best, best friends. This mission was serious.

“Whose idea even was this?” She rolled her eyes, arms crossing defensively.

stcllans

It was likely none other than Maverick who thought it up. The reason behind such frivolous orders is a toss up between the man’s sentimentality, and his cold, clinical desire for reports and archives. Stellan leans towards the latter. Maverick needs things organized, despite the lasting continuance of his nostalgic temperament. Seeing the orphans smile in photographs might be a secret yearning for confirmation of their hopefully happy and enduring spirits, but not a necessary fulfillment. He might even be planning to publicize them in some self-important article, for all he knows. Or cares. Stellan shrugs.

“I’m just the idiot in charge of it.” A plain but honest statement. Stellan fiddles with the camera. It’s turned off, for now, until he gets Irina to sit down with a plate and pretend to enjoy herself.

“I’m not involved with your record label, alright? If I ever need something from you, it’s about the expedition." He pushes himself off the wall. "It's not walking the plank—it's a plate of cheesecake and a picture. You won't die.”

#THREAD ― irina.

bbcsherlock

RYAN GOSLING in THE NICE GUYS (2016) dir. Shane Black

#VISAGE ― stellan.

CLOSED STARTER ― @diamcndskin.

“Comms are stable as long as we stay within a hundred-mile radius of the ship,” Stellan says, pulling up the transmission channels on his datapad. He taps through the interface with precision—verifying connections, scanning for interference, and finally clearing the lines for incoming dispatch. The mission report claimed the planet wasn’t inhabited by any sentient life, but with the Blight involved, they still need to proceed with caution. Besides, Stellan’s technically in charge of intra-crew communication and reinforcing chain of command whenever necessary, which he hopes is never.

“So,” he adds, glancing up, “we just need to make sure everyone stays within that zone.”

They're stationed just outside the Supernova, about an hour after touching down on Argos, setting up a preliminary checkpoint before splitting off for field assignments. Stellan had braced for hostile terrain—radiation, scorched earth, maybe an eerie silence thick with dread. What he hadn’t expected was… dogs. He watches one now, a scruffy golden retriever flopped on its side, belly up, tongue lolling in the sun. It’s surreal. He’s visited hundreds of worlds, encountered hundreds of species—some friendly, some not. But nothing has felt quite as disorienting as stepping onto a planet and being met by a welcoming committee of tail-wagging mutts. Even for him, it’s… a lot. After a long, uncertain pause, Stellan lowers the datapad and turns to Lina.

“You know,” he says slowly, as if still processing it himself, “I was mentally preparing for the worst. Some awful nightmare planet… burning cities, infected colonies…” His voice trails off as his gaze follows a labrador bounding through a patch of wildflowers, barking joyfully at a butterfly. “…But this? Doesn't this feel... even more strange?”

#THREAD ― lina.

CLOSED STARTER ― @n30nflights.

“Sit—ouch!” The miniature poodle playfully nips at Stellan’s ankles as he tries to walk away, forcing him into a clumsy dance of sidesteps and half-jumps. He swats at the air with one hand, attempting to shoo it away, with his datapad wobbling in the other. “I said sit! Stop—sit!” He was trying to start his planetary report when the dog bounded up to him with a level of enthusiasm Stellan was wholly unprepared for.

He’s clearly no dog person. His commands are vague, half-hearted, and repeated like a broken record: sit, no, stop. No follow-through. No authority. Just a poor man hoping the animal will get the hint and leave him alone. This is why he doesn’t do pets. Too much energy. Too many interruptions. He just wants to work, for once in his life.

Stellan finds himself drifting back toward the Supernova—and, unfortunately, Neon. He’s been avoiding the pilot ever since the camera incident, and he’d rather deal with ten dogs than talk to him right now. But the poodle won’t quit.

Finally, at his wit’s end, Stellan locks eyes with Neon. “Stop! Go bother him—” He points sharply at the pilot, then glares at the poodle, “—him! Bother him!”

#THREAD ― neon.#back at it again with the ridiculousness

cngelwings

stellan's attempt at humor didn't go unnoticed. he liked to deflect; fair enough, so did she. but where she would usually offer him a small grin for the effort, it proved difficult to follow that thought through, like her mind and her body no longer worked in tandem. instead, she softened her glare and let her gaze drift over him in a discreet sweep. the way he spoke, how he addressed her, how he seemed to want to be anywhere else but there with her, it was clear. he was uncomfortable. she made him uncomfortable.

mira angled her body away from his and towards the screens she caught him looking at, sighing to herself. "this one's upside down," mira said as she tapped the bottom of the monitor twice and brought it right-side up. "it's running real-time system scans of the ship and compiling an error log should something appear." she pointed to the monitors as she spoke. "this one has to do with power distribution, so we know what levels the subsystem is working on. and this one detects atmospheric pressure and O2 levels, as well as any radiation." it was only a few of the numerous screens, but she didn't have time to run stellan through every single thing that made the supernova go.

mira simply needed to fill the silence between them with something she could grasp. "it's not that i don't trust you." she kept her eyes trained on the screen, her finger delicately tracing the edge. "i just don't have a reason to." better she be honest than to start the expedition off on a lie. "yet." mira finally looked back to the older man. "i will see you at dinner." it was her own quiet way of reclaiming her engine room from him, arms crossing over her chest.

stcllans

Stellan’s gaze follows her hand toward the monitor he’d been unsuccessfully inspecting. He deliberately keeps a straight face when she points out that it’s upside down. Instead, he nods knowingly, but his voice doesn’t carry the same confidence when he quickly speaks.

“I knew that,” he says with a small, nonchalant shrug, as if the information is obvious to him, so it’s very telling when he remains completely silent as she carries on explaining a handful of the other displays. He listens, somewhat. Mostly, he’s focused on giving the impression of understanding with timely nods and an intellectually raised eyebrow. When she finishes, Stellan turns to her and offers a final nod that borders on appreciative. He’s preparing a dismissive remark when she beats him to it.

Mira’s eyes remain on the screen, not on him. The shift in focus is subtle, but he catches it. She’s not waiting for his approval, or to gauge his reaction—that alone disarms him more than her words. At first he’s surprised, then amused. Pleased, even. Stellan goes through life putting on airs out of social obligation, because that’s what people expect—because it’s what he expects from others, too. He wears his unpleasantness like a tailored suit: well-fitted and socially acceptable, just to the degree he can get away with. But beneath it, he’s always hoping someone will just see through it and not care. Like Fang, like Maverick… and maybe like this strange girl, who he thinks gets it without knowing that much about him. It’s… refreshing, strangely enough.

“I won’t argue with you on that,” Stellan says as he turns to leave, a small smile tugging on his lips. “See you at dinner.”

END.

#THREAD ― mira.

stcrsfang

Fang stands, straightens her shoulders, and laces her hands together behind her back, in her typical posture of standing at attention. Somehow, she's more comfortable this way than sitting on a bed. "The EBP," she muses, the initials flow together well enough, "I think it's suitable for now, but I will delegate the task of finding and appropriate name for you while I handle the rest."

At the joke, no flicker of emotion crosses Fang's features but she does offer a gratifying huff - the exhale is the closest she'll get to laughing at that attempt at humor. "Ah, C like the note. How charming. All the pirates I've ever known have been space-faring so I'm afraid the joke is a bit antiquated."

She suddenly overtaken by the prospect of this ship being stopped and boarded by pirates. A plan of defense begins to unfurl in her mind. With a brisk nod, she moves to exit the room, pausing only to dim the lights and say, "I think I can handle everything. Rest well."

stcllans

Stellan nods away the tiny speck of responsibility Fang places on his plate as if he’s pulling the same amount of weight during their exchange of ideas. He even has the nerve to look hassled as he crawls to his pillow. “I’ll think of something.”

He plops down, sighs after a few seconds, then begins removing his tie and shrugging off his jacket with a displeased huff. He frowns when she calls his joke antiquated, even though she’s right. On his home planet, they did still have sea pirates… however long ago that was. And the movies were damn good, too. He briefly wonders how many more they made after he left.

“Okay, I guess I’ll also think of a better joke.”

Once everything obstructing his comfort is peeled away, Stellan finally looks content as he snuggles into the pillow. When Fang dims the lights and walks off, he lets out a pleased grunt before eventually drifting off.

END.

#THREAD ― fang.

notyourmercy

Open Starter Timeframe: During Skipping Dinner Location: Gunner Consoles

The whirring hum of machinery filled Irina’s ears as she opened the door to her sanctuary. It was easy to find solitude near the weaponry of the ship; at least, it was easy when they weren’t in active combat. People tended to avoid the areas of the ship they deemed unimportant outside of work, which left them open for Irina to skulk in. Typically, she spent her days in between the gym, her room, and here; avoiding as much human (or human enough) contact as often as she could.

Her smile grew as she ran her fingers across the console; her perfectly manicured nails tapping lightly on the glass screen as they went. She wasn’t much of a tech person herself, but she could appreciate a well-built set up. She had options here, from the types of shots she could fire, the ammunition type, even the option to deploy and control a small combat drone. There was a part of her that thrived on the idea of the destruction she could cause, and her pulse began to race slightly as she imagined it, her hands moving subconsciously towards the controls.

She was snapped out of it when she heard the door open behind her, and turned quickly in her chair. “I wasn’t actually going to use it!” She said quickly, her cheeks flushing.

stcllans

Stellan leans casually against the doorway like the universe personally scheduled him to show up at exactly the right moment. His arms are crossed with one brow slightly raised, his expression hovering somewhere between amused disbelief and the resigned exhaustion of a man who’s been trying to show enthusiasm for a group event he didn’t particularly want to be involved in.

“I didn’t say anything,” he says, though his tone makes it clear he doesn’t buy it for a second—and doesn’t particularly care, either, beyond the fact that Irina would probably violate at least three minor protocols by using the weapons console off-duty, which would mean a stack of incident reports landing squarely on his lap. Worst case: more paperwork and another passive-aggressive memo from Maverick. Best case: Hyesung gets to show Lina some deep-breathing exercises.

“Let me guess—you’re hiding from group dinner?” He continues, pointing an accusatory finger at her. He doesn’t wait for confirmation. “I knew someone was missing from the camera roll. You did hear the announcement, right? At least show up for a picture?”

#THREAD ― irina.

doctorkim-deactivated20251222

Hyesung supposes, if nothing else (and he means absolutely nothing else), he can always count on Stellan's lack of any regard whatsoever for showing up on time for their appointments. That he's only fifteen minutes late, that he shows up at all — Hyesung has been practicing counting his wins and managing his expectations when it comes to the man, if only so he's not as frustrated when he predictably fails to meet them. "Good afternoon, Stellan," he says, and counts it as a win too that he only sounds half as put out he feels. "For the sake of situational awareness: it is 2:16 pm right now". He'd never schedule an appointment with him before mid-day (not the least because he'd rather not start out his own day in such a miserable away).

In the manner of a weary parent entertaining a babbling, incoherent toddler, Hyesung lets the manager chatter away to his heart's contents as he makes quick work of opening and filling a new assessment sheet on his desk, humming absently at the end of every other sentence as a show of politeness. His eyes keep straying, however, to the pinch of Stellan's eyes and mouth and the hand clutching at his own neck, with a considerating expression. It's rare, to look at the man and see something about him he can take at face value — but pain is always honest.

"If you're in pain, we can start with the physical assessment and see about the painkillers once we're done with it," he says with finality. Pushing slightly away from the desk, he reaches for the hand sterilizer, anticipating the need of a physical examination. "It's your neck, right? Is it only your neck or your shoulder, too? Can you point out to me where exactly does it hurt?"

stcllans

Stellan stops his back and forth pacing for a second when Hyesung points out the time. He squints at the wall chronometer, blinks once, then carries on pacing like the information is beneath his concern. If they hurry this examination along, he might still salvage enough time to claw his way out of the black hole that’s his current backlog. Maybe. By the time they approach Argos’ orbit, at least.

“Between my neck and shoulder—whatever muscle group that is.” He mutters, waving a vague hand in the general direction like he’s shooing away a ghost that decided to set up camp on his shoulder. He tries to tilt his head to demonstrate the issue but he’s stopped halfway through the motion with a hiss. “Yeah. That. Fun surprise this morning. Afternoon. Whatever.” He shrugs. Only his good shoulder participates.

“Maybe it’s stress,” he adds, voice a little too casual. “You know, caused by the relentless pressure of command.” Stellan pauses and considers telling the truth for a few seconds, before finally admitting: “Or because the dining table doesn’t have good ergonomics.” Another pause. "To fall asleep on."

#THREAD ― hysesung.

cngelwings

mira hadn't expected a straightforward answer from stellan. if anything, she would've been more surprised had he been sincere in his response and admitted out loud that he didn't, in fact, know what he was doing. she likely would've rushed him into the med-bay and demanded hyesung fix him. surely the alcohol fueling his bloodstream provided him with that inflated sense of ego, so five cc's of the ship's shittiest vodka would probably do the trick -- pulled from his own stash, no doubt. if she was supposed to feel shame for her question, she didn't. mira made no move to hide her caution where it regarded the older man, and he certainly made it clear he wanted less to do with her than she wanted to do with him. still, they were expected to work together throughout the expedition, and there was a reason maverick had chosen him to be here, guarding the girls. it was times like these she wished she knew her father better. there was something he saw in stellan that was beyond the naked eye. even with her enhanced features, she saw nothing more than a tired man with a killer vice and too little self-control. she ignored his question in favor of her own. "do you intend to divert from your responsibilities already?" there was no accusatory tone in her voice, no anger, nor frustration. it was simply.. a question. stellan must've understood by now that mira didn't intentionally mean to hurt any of his feelings (if he had any). "i can let the girls know not to expect you for dinner if you find your documentary more riveting."

stcllans

Stellan knows he should turn around and keep walking, but being questioned so sincerely keeps him in the room. He doesn’t provide an honest answer right away, he treads his usual ground and lets his mouth work faster than his brain. “I’m not diverting from anything, in fact, I’m attending to my responsibilities.” He holds up a self-important finger. “It is the responsibility of every thinking and conscious being to educate ourselves in matters regarding evuvug’s. Without them, Zuuvis wouldn’t be the tourist attraction it is, then the whole economy would crumble—okay, listen—you got me.” But when Mira looks at him with that strange, empty look, he realizes that keeping up a facade is more trouble than it’s worth. Mostly because she doesn’t seem to be appreciating his humor, and targeting the wrong audience is a fool's undertaking.

“I have no idea what’s on any of these screens, and I sort of… just…” Stellan motions vaguely. “Wandered down here with unclear intentions. But I can assure you that I will attending dinner, and that I will be having the cobb salad.”

Stellan’s shoulders rise then drop with a tiny exhale. He has a hazy idea of what he looks like from Mira’s perspective, and an even fuzzier notion about what he thinks about her. But one thing is evident: he’s wasting both of their time. With the ease of an actor, Stellan’s voice takes on a gentle, serious tone.

“I understand that you might be stressed because I’m your new manager, and you don’t know me that well, but I just have a different way of doing things.” Which is finding ways to get out of work as often as possible, but Stellan looks as convincing as a Republic congressional leader right now. “And that's okay.”

#THREAD ― mira.

stcrsfang

Perhaps they were both geniuses, or both idiots. Whatever they were it was in balance with one another. Whatever strange synergy resonated between them, Fang never felt it with anyone else. It sent a buzz through her skin like entering a warm home after a day spent working in the bitter cold. How completely ridiculous.

"When it comes down to it, they are a gifted and hardworking group of individuals. They've already proved that many times over. So I don't think we'll have an difficulty motivating them. But I'd like to keep their energy occupied in the off-moments and ensure that morale stays high. People like them, so used to greatness, might not be able to take failure in stride."

"Noted. I'll speak to Lina and she can be my liaison to the crew," she agreed. Fang was glad to be given new responsibilities. Often, her jobs were so short that she never had time to be bored. There'd be a few days of feeling out her employer and coworkers. By the time she'd solved the puzzle of their psyches and dynamics, she'd move onto the next. This longer-term commitment wasn't her style, and she worried that she'd lose her mind from the monotony.

A preemptive chuckle escaped Fang at the obvious set up. She ran a hand over her tightly slicked back hair, smoothing the stray strands down. "Oh no. . .no I don't. Go on."

stcllans

Stellan nods along sagely as Fang speaks, stroking his chin like a man who’s deeply considering the psychological resilience of an intergalactic pop group, rather than wondering if he left his sunglasses in the war room. He hasn’t been anticipating their reaction to failure. Or anything, really. Planning ahead isn’t his strong suit. As a rule, he operates on a rolling one-week plan. If he survives, he starts thinking about the next weekend. Evidently, Fang’s given this a lot more thought than he has.

“Mm, yes, brilliant stuff.” Stellan tunes back in, not wanting to stop the momentum. “We’ll call it the emotional… balance… protocol.” He purses his lips. “Okay, we’ll workshop the name. But I like where your head’s at.”

Stellan drags himself up the bed and leans back against the wall, crossing his arms. He smiles. “Because they love the high Cs.” Once the disgustingly corny joke is out of the way, he looks at Fang like unpacking a bottle of alcohol seeped the energy right out of him—and now he must rest.

“I think I might take a late afternoon siesta. Do you mind making sure nothing falls apart in the meantime?”

#THREAD ― fang.

CLOSED STARTER ― @doctorkim.

Stellan is fifteen minutes late to his pre-landing mental and physical assessments. Mentally, he feels fine. Physically? He’s nursing a hangover and a stiff neck after falling asleep like a contortionist over the dining table. When Hyesung opens the medbay door, he finds Stellan standing there with damp hair and a grimace, one hand clutching his neck as he rolls a shoulder with obvious discomfort.

“Morning, doc,” Stellan says, his voice hoarse, betraying just how recently he woke up—and how far behind schedule he likely is. He strolls in without the slightest trace of an apology; tardiness is just another quirk in his charming arsenal of infuriating traits.

“Took me ten minutes to figure out the shower controls,” he adds, glancing back. “Who designs hot on the right and cold on the left? What kind of chaos ship is this?” He gestures vaguely. “Anyway, just need some painkillers. I’ll be in and out.”

#THREAD ― hyesung.

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STELLAN MCLYNN.